Too Far Gone
by Nine Bright Shiners
Summary: 'Who took your other eye? ' Chills ran up Rick's arms and neck. It felt like there was an alert gaze behind those bloodied bandages where no eyes were. 'I did.' AU from S4E7 onwards. The Governor hears of a sanctuary called Terminus. Searching for a safe place for his new family, his attempts to save them end in horror. Rated M for Terminus themes, described in a non-graphic way.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

In a corner of the yard sat a man. He was peeling potatoes, dropping the peel into an iron bucket and slipping the greasy bare potatoes into a huge pan of cold water. For all that he was blind, his hands moved quickly and efficiently. A white cane was propped against the wall beside him. Sometimes someone would cross the yard, calling a greeting to him as they passed. In answer he would nod in their direction, not stopping his work for a moment. Somewhere in the near distance laughter could be heard, interspersed with barking and splashing water. Then the laughter retreated indoors and all was quiet again.

It was humid weather, and in a few minutes the man's shady spot would be infiltrated by the white sun as it toiled upwards through the blue sky. Almost all the shade in the compound had already been eliminated. The yard had been quiet for a long time when a door opened and an old man began to make his way across the tarmac. His progress was slow but steady. For a while he paused, watching the man peeling potatoes. Then he sat himself on the wall next to the man and stretched out his legs – one whole, the other a stump – with a groan of satisfaction.

'Today will be a good one. A little humid, but the hay should dry out quickly – and the laundry too.' He smiled.

The man continued peeling in silence.

The old man now began to look thoughtful, memory reaching towards him out of the past. 'In seven years we've done so much here. Sometimes I can't believe this is all real. Out of horror we've created a haven. A refuge. But most importantly, we've created a home.'

The other man said nothing. The old man did not seem surprised by his companion's silence.

'It must get a little lonely in Cell Block A sometimes. Why don't you move over to C?'

The man smiled, the peeler pausing in mid-stroke. 'Always the same question. Well, the answer's still "no".'

'I can live in hope.'

The man had now peeled all the potatoes. When he stood, he towered over the old man. He heaved up the heavy bucket, taking up the white cane in his other hand, nodded goodbye. He crossed the yard with careful steps, the cane probing the space before him, and disappeared into the cool shade of Cell Block B, where the main kitchen was located.

The old man watched him go with a faint smile. He stayed seated until the sun beat directly down onto his thin shoulders and he too retreated indoors, taking the bucket with him.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

People were scared. Yesterday, while Brian had been away on a raid with Martinez and the Dolgen brothers, a few biters had got into the camp, nearly killing Meghan. Howard, one of the older men, had been bitten. His daughter had had to put him down.

Brian had come back to find Lilly pale and stricken, her thin arms wrapped around herself as she told him what had happened. He'd felt sick, angry and relieved all at once. To think he hadn't been there –

He was tempted to take his family and go – but it seemed that everyone else wanted to do the same. He would wait to see what they decided, and then act.

Everyone was agreed on one thing: the camp was no longer safe. It had never really been safe. They'd been deluding themselves, swigging beers and hanging up washing when any day a herd could pass through and it would all be over.

With some difficulty Martinez managed to calm everyone down, telling them to sleep on it, and that there'd be a vote in the morning to decide what they should do.

* * *

It was getting dark outside their caravan. Brian was sitting at the table, prepared to head out in a couple of minutes for his turn on guard duty. Lilly was counting their stocks of medical supplies, while Meghan was drawing nearby, her forehead furrowed in concentration. Brian felt a newly familiar lurch of his heart when he saw Meghan had added a tall figure with an eyepatch to her picture of a family sitting on an enormous caravan.

Tara had turned on the radio. She liked to listen for other survivors, though there never were any.

Brian tried to ignore the crackling – even before the world had turned upside down he'd developed a dislike for radio – but he kept quiet, knowing Tara needed this to distract her from the horror of the day before.

As usual there was nothing but a harsh crackling that set their teeth on edge. They listened to it for a full minute, waiting.

'That's enough,' said Brian, at last, and Lilly reached out to turn it off.

At that moment the crackling faded and a clear, precise voice began to speak. They all listened intently, Lilly's hand freezing in mid-air.

'Terminus. Those who arrive survive. Follow the tracks to the point where all lines intersect. There are maps at the crossings to help guide you with your journey. Sanctuary for all. Community for all. Those who arrive survive.'

There was a stunned silence as the voice repeated its message over and over, never missing a beat. After two repetitions Brian knew it off by heart. Still, no one moved to turn it off.

His heart began to beat fast in his chest. Even as he heard the message, he found himself recalling the last time – almost three years ago, now – that he had heard a voice over the radio. He never dwelt on the past – he could not afford to look back – but this memory surfaced before he had a chance to repress it.

He had been driving home one night after a frustrating day at his mindless office job, when a broadcaster had announced apologetically that the highway he usually took was now closed; there'd been a major accident. He hadn't thought much of it at the time as he took a different route home to avoid the traffic. When he got home he found out that it was his wife who had been in the crash. She had been killed instantly.

That night as he rocked Penny to sleep as she wailed, that voice from the radio repeated over and over in his head.

'We have to go there.'

He started, glancing up. Tara had abandoned her half-assembled gun on the counter and was leaning over them, her face bright and eager. 'This is it. We have to go.'

'Brian?' Lilly put a hand on his arm. 'What do you think?'

He looked at her, seeing the shadows of worry and insomnia under her eyes. Though she tried to hide it from him, she hadn't slept at all for the last forty-eight hours, reliving the nightmare of nearly watching her daughter die.

The two radio messages were playing over in his mind – he shook his head to clear it. 'I don't know … How do we know it's real? It could be a trap.'

Tara rolled her eyes, impatient, but Lilly spoke before she could.

'You're right. It could be a trap. But how can we know unless we go there?' She touched his face and he smiled unwillingly. 'We need someplace safe. They're strong enough to take people in: if this is real, it could be the safest place left.'

* * *

Others had heard the radio message too. Terminus was all anyone talked about at the vote the next morning. The name was familiar to Jeff, one of the newer members of the group: 'A few days before Thea and I joined Martinez here we were crossing some train tracks and we saw a map with "Terminus" on it. There were about a dozen different coloured roads, all leading to the same place. And it told us that if we got there, we would survive. We were tempted – but it was a long journey and there was no way we would have reached it alive. I'd injured my leg a few days back, and Thea refused to leave me even though I slowed us down. We preferred to stay in an area we knew was relatively free of biters.'

'How many miles away would you say Terminus was?'

'Difficult to say; we didn't stop to look at the scale. But I'd guess a good hundred miles, give or take a few.'

'A hundred miles … that would be at least a week's journey, providing for stops overnight, and any detours we might have to make to avoid biters.'

As the discussion continued, Martinez signalled for Brian to come with him. He walked to the side of the clearing, Brian following warily.

'They'll vote to go.' Martinez pulled a cigarette out of his jacket and tucked it into his mouth, flicking on his lighter.

Brian said nothing. Since the supply run yesterday Martinez had seemed to accept his presence in the group, and respect his wish to bury his past – but just one word could undo his new life. He kept his expression inscrutable, folding his arms to hide his clenched hands.

'If this place turns out to be a good one, it could be everything we've hoped for.' Martinez paused, watching Brian over the smoke pluming from his cigarette. 'It could be a second chance at Woodbury.'

The hum of voices from the group's discussion faded. His heartbeat grew abnormally loud as he forced himself not to look away from Martinez's watchful gaze, keeping his own impassive and veiled.

'We'll have to be ready to take it,' came a drawling voice.

Mitch had appeared at Brian's side, slouching with his hands in his pockets. He made a point of always turning up on Brian's right side, where he had no side vision, hoping to startle him; or better still, scare him. It rarely worked, but it didn't help reduce Brian's instinctive dislike of the man.

'We've got enough ammo to take out a small army. And we've got a tank. Any trouble from the "Termites", we can take 'em out, every last one of them.' He cocked his head, smirking at Brian. 'Ain't that right, One-eye Bri?'

Brian said nothing. He could feel Martinez watching him.

Mitch's grin began to fade, and he shifted from foot to foot.

Martinez had turned thoughtful. 'We don't know what their defences are,' he mused. 'We'll have to come up with something. Take them by surprise.' Brian knew he was remembering some of their Woodbury campaigns; scrutinising them for tactics to reuse. 'It'll take at least a week to get there; we'll think of something on the road.'

'Sure we will. Those Termites won't know what's hit them.'

'You'd do that? Just take what other people have?' Pete had joined them. 'Why can't we just leave them be, if we can't join them?'

'Because they've practically given us an invitation, little brother.' Mitch gave Pete a shove and Pete shrugged him off angrily. 'If they don't play nice and invite us in, then they deserve what they get.'

Brian turned towards the circle of voters, to where Lilly stood listening, a glimmer of hope showing through her exhaustion.

Pete remained stubborn. 'They have a right to decide who to let in and who to turn away.'

Mitch opened his mouth but Martinez cut him off. 'Enough. It's time for the vote.'

* * *

As the vote took place, Brian stood at Lilly's side, Meghan between them. At some point, Meghan reached up and took Brian's hand. The feel of her small, warm fingers was like a shock of electricity – an addictive pull in two directions. That simple touch was everything he could hope for in this nightmare world. It was a pull to a hopeful future, the future he craved. But just under the surface lurked everything he had lost. He had been staving off his grief for so long; he lived in fear of the day it would rise up and pull him under.

He couldn't lose them again.

A second Woodbury. He knew that a functioning community was possible – Meghan could go to school; there would be other children for her to play with. But it took strength and resilience to make it last. He would give anything to be able to give Meghan a life like that, and for her to keep it.

The biter attack that had killed Howard had been a matter of time. He'd seen that from the beginning, quickly taking note of the lack of patrols; the ill-stocked ammunition; the too-casual attitude of the men who appointed themselves the protectors of this camp. Now was his chance – their chance, he amended at once – to do better, to be prepared for whatever came their way.

The vote was passed; they would go to Terminus.

* * *

The rest of the day flew by as people hurried about, packing and preparing for the long trip, excited and hopeful for the first time in a long while. Later that evening Brian sat in the caravan with his family when Martinez came by. Unlocking the door and opening it to see that familiar face framed by the night, Brian felt his gut twist in apprehension.

He was completely unprepared for what Martinez had come to say.

'I want you as my second-in-command.'

At the table, Lilly and Tara both looked up from their card game.

Outside, all was still. He felt as though the whole scene was unfolding at a great distance. His hand gripped the door-frame.

'What?'

Martinez smiled. 'You heard me. You've got more experience than anyone else here; and there's a lot I need to talk over with you.' He paused. 'About our approach to Terminus, I mean.'

'I don't want it.' The words left his mouth even before he thought them.

Martinez blinked; his smile fading. Brian could feel Lilly and Tara's eyes on him.

He forced his voice to remain steady. 'I'll give you advice, if that's what you want. But Pete's a good enough deputy. You don't need me to replace him.'

'Brian?' Lilly had half-risen out of her seat. He quickly waved her to sit down again.

Martinez was frowning, but he spoke calmly. 'All right. Pete'll continue as my deputy. But I expect you to do your bit.'

There was an ironic half-smile on Brian's lips. 'No dead weight.'

Martinez shifted, uncertain. 'You got it.' Then he waved to Lilly and Tara, telling them to get a good night's sleep for the journey, and slipped away into the dark.

Brian double-bolted the door and went back to his seat. He quickly reassured Lilly when she asked him if he was all right. But for the next few minutes he kept his hands under the table to hide their shaking. What had Martinez meant, asking such a question? After Woodbury … He pressed a hand to his eye. He'd said he didn't want it – and he didn't. The only thing he wanted was for his family to survive. But what if being Martinez's second-in-command would ensure their safety? If his place in the group was more permanent; if he was in the position to make them safe … But with that position came so much else. He didn't want it – he couldn't.

Half an hour passed. He tried to focus on Tara and Lilly's reminiscences about their short stay in this camp but couldn't concentrate. The radio message played over and over in his head – he felt an unease that he couldn't shift.

A couple of drops of water dripped from the hole in the ceiling; he still hadn't got round to fixing it. The gas lamp on the table threw a warm, shaky light across his family's features, softening worry lines and bringing out new shadows, giving their faces an unfamiliar quality.

The supply run had made him feel purpose again. He had forgotten the satisfaction of working in a group and taking what you could find – and now he had a family to bring things back to, to protect. It was like carving out a little more civilisation in the wilderness, as he'd once dreamed of doing through Woodbury. So far there had been no trouble with Martinez. The other man seemed ready to give him a completely fresh start; his offer just now seemed to prove it. Brian was suspicious and grateful at once, and determined not to mess this up – nor to let Martinez mess things up for him.

But the raid had stirred old memories, too, disturbing the darkness he kept hidden even from himself. Images flashed across his mind when he closed his eyes. Mutilated men propped against tree trunks, their heads gone. Bone yielding beneath his blow; skulls shattering, caving inwards. A family smiling out of a bloodstained photograph. _Liar. Rapist. Murderer._ The words spoke to him; clung to him –

'Brian?'

He started. Lilly's eyes were full of concern as she gently took his rigid fist in her hand and unclenched his fingers. His nails had left harsh marks in his palm. He watched, feeling as if his hand belonged to someone else. He hadn't realised he was so tense.

'What were you thinking about?' She was wary – he wondered what she'd seen in his face.

'Nothing.'

She pursed her lips; he smiled grudgingly.

'I'm fine,' he said softly. She half-smiled, still not completely convinced. Squeezing his hand, she got to her feet and went to the back of the caravan where she kept her medicine bag and a few precious tokens of life before it turned upside down.

As he watched her go he felt again the ghost of her kiss on his ruined eyelid, from earlier that day, when he had been washing the mutilated area. He had tried to hide it when she came in, but she had pulled away his arm and kissed him there, where no one had ever touched him since it had happened. He felt the kiss lingering there, tucked beneath the eyepatch, known to no one but him and her.

He loved her more than he had thought was possible.

Lilly was now holding something hidden in her fist. She called to Meghan, and took one of her daughter's small hands, pressing something gold into it.

'The day you were born your grandfather had this brooch made especially for you. It has your initials, see? I was keeping it for when you turned twelve, but I want you to have it now.' She carefully pinned it onto Meghan's cloth jacket. 'It's beautiful, isn't it?'

Meghan nodded, gazing down at it in wonder. It was in the shape of a little bird; a starling. Mostly it was gold, but there were shots of emerald in its outspread wings.

Lilly tucked Meghan's hair back. 'Remember to move fast, like that bird, if you're ever in danger.'


	3. Chapter 2

_A/N: I've made a couple of changes to Chapter 1,_ _drawing out a few more of Brian's feelings about Martinez's group, and his place in it, thanks to LadyIngenue's very helpful and insightful suggestions. The main addition is a short scene with Martinez in the final section of the chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

They'd been travelling for four days now. When on road-wheels the tank could go fast on tarmac, at an average of 35 miles an hour – though they kept it to 15 to save fuel and reduce noise. So far their luck had held, and they had not run into any significant threats or obstacles – or a herd. A few dozen times biters on the roads had come staggering towards them – only to be crushed by 60 tonnes of grinding metal and steel plate. Sometimes through the periscope she saw biters shambling towards them at a distance, but they were soon left far behind.

But their luck had run out at last, and the tank was out of fuel. After some debate they decided to leave it in the middle of the road, where it could be easily found. They hoped it wouldn't be the wrong people who found it.

Then they began to walk, the young woman holding the tall man's arm.

It was surreal to be out in the open air. Their dirty, sticky bodies were still vibrating. Those last four days of being cooped up together in the deafening, shuddering tank, breathing in petrol fumes from dawn to dusk, had been some of the toughest she'd ever experienced. Mostly, they had not spoken at all. There wasn't much to say.

She had nearly abandoned him. The first night on the road, as they sat in front of a small fire, surrounded by a makeshift noise-trap of tin-cans, he'd told her everything in a flat voice, keeping nothing back. She listened with a blank face to even the most horrible parts. Only when she asked about his most recent experiences did he refuse to speak.

Sometime in the middle of the night he heard her get up and leave. He hadn't tried to stop her. It had only been a matter of time.

He had been woken by a rough hand on his shoulder. He assumed it was early morning, though the blackness in his mind left him with little way of being able to tell.

'Get up. We've got a long journey ahead of us.'

* * *

That had been three days ago. Their silence had lasted for an unbroken two hours when he spoke.

'I know where you're taking me.'

'Good for you, mastermind.' She kept walking, holding his arm firmly; her head turning in a quick glance around for biters. There were none in sight.

As if in compensation for his blindness, she found herself noticing details she'd never given attention a week ago. The shape of the clouds, the purple shadows between the trees, the little cracks in the road where grass showed through.

'When they turn me away, don't be a martyr. They have a good place – you deserve to live there.'

She gave no sign of hearing him. 'We're hitting rough terrain now. So you'd better zip it or you'll trip over yourself.'

After half an hour's stumbling through the woods, they began to hear sounds – sounds of a distant past. There was a joyful sound of dogs barking excitedly, the fainter sound of a horse braying – and very human voices singing.

They'd made it. She found to her surprise that she had tears in her eyes. She wiped them away quickly, the fabric of her shirt rough on her eyelids.

'Take another goddamn step and I'll shoot.'

A rough-looking man stood a short distance away. Neither of them had heard his approach. His crossbow was aimed at the blind man's head.


	4. Chapter 3

_A/N: I would like to warn you that, as the summary now states, this story will feature strong Terminus themes, though they will be written in a non-graphic style._

* * *

 _'In devoting yourself to others, Jekyll, aren't you neglecting your own development?' - Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920 film)_

 **Chapter 3**

'When you're in a tank, things don't happen to you. You happen to them.'

They'd stopped for a brief rest, and Mitch was working Tara and Alisha into green envy as he regaled them with his experiences of driving the tank. After they'd wheedled him for hours, he'd been persuaded to outline the method of tank-driving, but when they asked for a practical lesson, he scoffed.

'You ain't neither of you got the muscle.'

Tara and Alisha bristled, visibly.

Mitch laughed, patting the tank's flank with pride. 'You think this thing is like those camper vans you're driving these days? It takes a man to handle the brake levers – no woman would be strong enough.'

Tara's retort was lightning-quick. 'That's rich, coming from someone who makes most of the other guys here look like the Hulk.'

Lilly rolled her eyes, while Brian hid a smile.

Five minutes later they got up and resumed their journey. The caravans drove at a walking pace, while a few people went on foot, an excuse both to stretch their legs and keep an eye out for danger. Meghan was starting to grizzle from all the travelling; and Brian could see Lilly was getting tired of her whining.

'There's only one thing to be done with a little girl who whines,' he said very seriously, leaning down to look into her eyes.

She looked back at him curiously. 'What's that?'

Suddenly he grabbed hold of her, spinning her round and swinging her into the air. Her shriek cut off in a breathless giggle as he settled her onto his shoulders, straightening up with his hands firmly around her ankles.

'Like it up there?'

'Yes – I can see everything.'

He glanced over at Lilly, who was watching him with a smile that made something tighten in his chest. 'You just let me know if you see anything strange from up there,' he told Meghan.

They walked for half an hour without incident. It was hot; his shoulders started to grow damp where Meghan was sitting. Far in the distance, rain clouds were gathering. Good, thought Brian. The biters won't move as fast in rain, and the mud will trap some of them long after the rain stops.

'Brian,' came Meghan's high little voice. There was an edge of fear in it that made him instinctively tighten his grip on her. 'Look over there.'

He looked up; then followed the direction of her outstretched arm. Away to their left was a deep ditch. A pile of corpses lay tumbled together, their clothes in tatters, their skin scabbed and rotting. The heat made their stink so pungent he was amazed he hadn't smelt them before Meghan saw them. Each body had a deep head-wound. Flies gathered on every available patch of raw skin, crawling everywhere, feeding; their buzz low and inescapable. In his mind the whining drone grew louder, crackling and popping, almost masking a toneless voice repeating its message over and over.

His stomach turned. He reached up to lift Meghan down. 'Time to go back inside.'

* * *

The day seemed endless, baked dry by the sun, though the air was rapidly growing cooler as the rain clouds caught up with them. When they at last stopped to make camp, the grass was brittle and snapped under their feet.

Lilly sat on the step of the caravan, Meghan on her lap. She was brushing Meghan's hair, feeling its softness, remembering how it had felt to hold her in her arms as a baby – and that baby scent which never failed to fill her with a rush of love and protectiveness.

Then Meghan ran off to help Tara and Alisha stack firewood, and Lilly found herself doing what she felt like she'd been doing since the night they'd left Martinez's camp; watching Brian.

He was standing at the edge of the circle of caravans, staring off into the trees; sleeves rolled back, one hand on his hip. Since he'd passed Meghan back into the caravan he'd said very little – even less than usual. As she looked at his silhouette outlined against the gathering darkness, she found herself remembering two lonely young women in a dark, confined apartment, sitting on either side of a near-mute stranger, eager to forget their fears and that numbing inescapable boredom as they poured out their life stories to him. Even now she hardly knew how it had happened. But the moment he'd appeared at their door, she'd recognised something in him – a quietness, a conscious constraint, as if he was perpetually holding himself back from some extreme. She'd seen that extreme in brief glimpses: the moment when he'd viciously torn out the throat of one biter and ripped away half the head of another with its own jaw – and the awful moment when he'd turned that violence on her dead father.

But he'd done it to protect them – for good reason.

What had made him into the man he was? He never spoke of his past. There had been a moment or two when Martinez had been about to say something, but Brian had quickly changed the subject. Since that night he had turned down Martinez's offer of second-in-command, his quietness had become an extreme in itself. Why did he shy away from leadership? She felt instinctively that he could be a good leader – a great one.

Then he looked over at her. His eye narrowed in concern but she couldn't quite manage a smile in reassurance.

When they'd all gathered around one of the small fires for supper, he sat down next to her and took her hand in his large one.

'Hey,' he said softly, 'what's the matter?'

She didn't answer, instead reaching for his arm and running her hand up and down, from his elbow to his wrist and back, feeling the smooth whiteness on one side and the slightly rougher, tanned skin on the other. His hand trapped hers in mid-stroke.

'I'm going to keep you safe.' His voice was low and serious. 'You and Meghan and Tara.'

She leant her head into his neck with a sigh. His arm went round her shoulders, holding her close. 'I know.'

They fell quiet, enveloped in their own personal silence, hardly noticing the talk of the others.

But then one conversation in particular grew more and more vocal, intruding on their privacy. It was Pete and Hilary – the woman who'd had to kill her father, Howard, back at the camp before he turned. They were talking about Terminus and the radio message. Hilary wouldn't shut up about it. Gradually everyone else fell silent until she was the only one speaking.

'It kept saying "those who arrive survive." _Survive.'_

Pete spoke through gritted teeth. 'Well, that's what we're all doing, every day. Surviving.'

'But why "survive"?' Her thin voice disturbed the peace of the night. 'Why not "live"?'

No one answered.

* * *

They were lingering around the fire, about to head for their caravan when the attack happened.

The first thing they heard was running feet and the cracks of snapping branches. Then Meghan let out a piercing scream and sprinted for the caravan. With a darting look at Brian, Lilly ran after her and locked the door behind them, taking her pistol out of its safe place and standing ready to shoot.

Brian and Tara had their guns in hand. The attackers were armed with knives. There were five of them, desperate men with the whites of their eyes showing. If they'd had guns, things would have been much bloodier. They ran at Hilary, who stumbled away, shrieking. At that moment Alisha appeared, her face hard, and shot one of them through the throat. He fell to the ground, choking and gurgling, clutching at his neck. Blood cascaded through his fingers. In the same moment, Martinez, Mitch and Pete showed up, their guns at the ready. They fired and two more of the men dropped, clutching their wounds. A second later, Tara shot one of the men between the eyes, while Brian shot the last through the skull.

Mitch spat at the ground. 'Let's finish them.'

It was over in moments. As they fired the killing shots it started to rain. Within seconds they were soaked through. A pool of blood spread around their feet, marking their shoes.

'Are you all right?' Alisha put a hand to Tara's face. 'I thought it was you they were after.'

Tara's eyes were touched with something vulnerable as she managed a wavering smile. 'I'm fine, dumbass. I can take care of myself.'

They laughed, and Alisha pulled Tara closer until their foreheads were touching.

Brian looked down at the man he'd shot. His ribs were starkly visible through his wet t-shirt. Brian suppressed a shudder; it was little wonder those men had gone to such extremes.

'Sorry bastards.' Martinez was standing at his elbow. 'Come with me? We should make sure the perimeter's safe.'

Brian followed Martinez wordlessly.

'That was a good shot back there.' Martinez narrowed his eyes at Brian, appraising him. 'There's something different about you. It's that family you found, I reckon. It's like you'd do anything to keep them safe.'

'I would.'

Martinez regarded him thoughtfully. 'You've changed. You're not how you were in Woodbury.'

Brian raked the shadows between the trees with his gaze, squinting against the rain. He was determined not to look at Martinez.

'Why say "no" to being my second-in-command?'

Brian felt his hand clench. 'Because …' he ground the word out between his teeth, biding for time.

At that moment Martinez let out a shout of alarm. Brian whirled around. A biter had lunged out of the trees, missing Martinez by inches. As Martinez jerked out of reach he slipped, falling onto his back. The biter lurched after him, tripping and crawling through the mud, its arms clawing.

Rain lashed against Brian's face. In the swimming light he saw Martinez's mouth opening and closing as he choked on liquid mud, his hands scrabbling for a hold in the slime. There was something about his wide eyes that made Brian want to laugh. But he didn't. His face remained very cold and hard as he took in the scene. He raised his gun.

A moment more and the biter would be too close.

The shot was almost lost in the sound of the rain. The biter slumped, all motion gone in an instant.

He and Martinez regarded each other. The seconds drew out – then Brian stepped forward.

Martinez took his offered hand and was hauled to his feet. For the briefest of moments he didn't move. There was something unreadable in his dark gaze as he studied Brian's face. Then he wiped a hand over his mouth, muttering, 'That was too close.' He walked away, slipping a little in the mud in his hurry. He gave no thanks.

From the caravans Brian could hear the sound of nervous chatter and reassurances. The whole thing had lasted less than a minute. And yet something roared on and on in his chest, his fingers tingling as he gripped his gun, and the cold and the rain were as nothing.

* * *

Lilly was waiting for him.

'Everything all right?' she asked as he stepped inside, ducking his head. He barely registered the question, hearing only the thrumming of his blood. For a long moment he did nothing but look at her; she shivered, her eyes darkening. His hands went to her waist, drawing her to him in a way he never had before. She'd been about to ask something else – but now he watched as all words drained from her mind. His own effect on her intoxicated him. The violence and the blood of the last few minutes had made some old forbidden feeling resurface – but this – this was different altogether. And yet, was it?

Her arms wound around his neck, collecting beads of water from his dripping hair, her eyes growing heavy and lidded as she waited for his next move. Leisurely, he bent his head, his mouth grazing the spot just below her ear.

'Never better,' he murmured, and she closed her eyes.

* * *

She woke at dawn, reaching out for him, to find his side of the bed cold and empty. Blearily she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

'Brian?'

He was sitting at the table, fully dressed, his hands balled into fists, staring at nothing. She called him a second time but he still did not respond. Only when she went to him and put a hand on his arm did he look up.

'What's the matter?'

For a moment he only looked at her blankly. Then, fleetingly, she thought she saw something like guilt in his face, before he rose, shrugging off her hand, and going to the door. He seemed almost to forget her. She could feel his silence rising again; just as she'd begun to hope it might have gone forever.

'Talk to me.' The frustration in her own voice surprised her.

He glanced back at her. 'Last night, when Martinez and I…' She saw him change his mind, and when he spoke next his voice was firm. 'It's nothing. A bad dream, that's all.'

* * *

An hour later Martinez called everyone together. He congratulated them all on dealing with the scavengers so efficiently, and warned them to remain extra vigilant as they travelled onwards, now that they were days away from Terminus. As he spoke about vigilance, his eyes lingered on Brian, his face hardening.

Brian kept out of Martinez's way for the rest of the day; and Martinez made no attempt to approach him. Lilly kept watching him, but didn't try to question him any further after her earlier attempt. He couldn't bring himself to talk to her, not when he kept remembering the way he'd acted with her last night. Frowning, he tried to clear his mind, to focus only on driving. But with the road stretching unbroken ahead of him, there was little to distract him from his thoughts.

Last night he'd almost lost control. He'd slipped too easily into that old frame of mind, the thrill of power – he could not help feeling alarm.

But somewhere, deep in some part of him that he kept hidden but ever-ready should the need arise, he was secretly pleased.

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you to LadyIngenue for the Elizabeth Bowen quote on quietness, constraints and extremes, and for all the help and inspiration you gave me while I wrote this chapter, and finally for pointing out that the Jekyll and Hyde quote applied to Brian in an intriguing way. Those rolled-back sleeves are especially for you._


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

They were getting close. Nerves were mounting. Experiences among them varied, but all of them knew that humans could be far worse than biters. The attack two days previously had driven that point home decisively.

They had a plan. At the end of the day, by which time they would be only ten miles from Terminus, they would split off from each other in three groups. Mitch would take the tank and a few fighters, including Pete, and go around to the east, where he would watch the perimeters of Terminus like a hawk. Martinez would take the rest of the group, among them Alisha, and watch the western perimeter of the Terminus complex. And finally, Brian, Lilly, Tara and Meghan would be the first to go into Terminus itself. Brian had wanted to go in alone, but Lilly had refused, arguing that they were much more likely to take in a family than a lone, imposing one-eyed man. He had agreed reluctantly; glad that at least this way he would have personal responsibility for his family's protection. He didn't trust anyone else to keep them safe.

The plan was that they would present themselves as a family who had been surviving alone for the last few months – close enough to the truth, he supposed. They would try to see as much as possible of the place, and if anything at all seemed off, they would communicate with the others via walkie-talkie and Mitch and Martinez would fight their way in, hopefully taking the residents of Terminus by surprise. Then they would have the place for themselves.

That had been the plan they'd stuck to for the last few days. But the attack had changed things.

It was mid-afternoon. In a few hours they would stop and the group would split. The skies were clear and blue, and the roads were unobstructed. In the back of the caravan Brian could hear Alisha and Tara talking quietly. They'd grown closer over the last couple of days; there was lots of time for talking on the road, and now they were rarely apart. Meghan was chanting a nursery rhyme under her breath; 'Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?'

Lilly sat beside him, silent and pensive. Her eyes had been on the road for a long time when she spoke suddenly. 'We can't take Meghan into Terminus with us. I won't risk it.'

'I agree.'

She glanced at him in surprise.

'Tara and Meghan can stay with the caravans overnight, at the place we all part ways, while the two of us go closer to Terminus. Tara can keep Meghan safe. They'll have plenty of supplies, and they can keep the doors locked until the moment we come back to fetch them.'

'And if we don't?'

He spoke with calm certainty. 'That's not going to happen.' He paused. 'But we'll tell Tara that if we're not back by sunset of the second day, she should take Meghan and head in the opposite direction from Terminus.'

They were silent for a while. He was startled when her hand gripped his. She'd been distant towards him over the last two days; retaliation, and protection, he knew, against his detachment. 'Thank you,' she whispered. In her voice was a multitude of unspoken things. Wordlessly he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the padded base of her thumb.

* * *

As the sun drew near to the horizon, the line of caravans moved off into the trees along a narrow track, heading for the place they'd decided to use as their last rendezvous point. Mitch and Pete continued along the main road in the tank, which was too big to navigate through the forest, taking the route they'd discussed with Martinez, which would eventually lead around to the eastern side of Terminus.

They reached the clearing and the engines cut off one by one while people climbed out, tense and excited. This was it. They were about to act decisively, taking their fates into their own hands.

'Want to go for a walk?'

Tara glanced at Alisha in surprise, then nodded. She guessed that Alisha wanted to get away from the tension of people readying themselves for a possible battle, but more than that, it would be the last time they would be together for a while.

'Keep an eye out for trouble.' Brian had paused in the act of setting out tools on the caravan table.

Tara felt a pang of affection for him. 'We always do.'

His expression warmed as he looked at her, before he returned to his task.

Tara led the way; she remembered seeing a lake very close to this site when she'd looked at Martinez's map. It couldn't be more than a five minute walk from the clearing.

'Do you think there'll be a fight?' Alisha asked as they walked.

Tara didn't answer for a while. If there was one, she would be far away from the gunfire, while Alisha would be a target. Brian had told her the new plan an hour ago, and she'd agreed to it. She hated the idea of staying safely locked inside her caravan while Alisha went off risking her life – but even worse was the thought of leaving Meghan unprotected. 'I don't know,' she said at last. 'But if this goes right, we could have a real life again.'

Five minutes, then more minutes passed, and she began to worry she'd misjudged the distance. Just as she was ready to turn back the forest fell away.

She forgot to move, forgot to breathe. She thought she had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.

The sun lit the water with a pinkish glaze, till it looked almost like rose-coloured glass. The trees on the far side of the lake were deepening from green into purple, and in their shadows stirred creatures she had not set eyes on since she was a small girl. White-tailed deer. She'd heard somewhere that they'd once nearly been eliminated in Georgia. As she watched, a stag moved out of the trees, his antlers raised high, seeming to look directly at her. She looked back at him, and for a moment it was as if she'd never known the dead could walk again, and the world of before was restored, tranquil and secure.

Alisha's hand found hers, and they stood there together until the sun touched the treeline.

* * *

When they returned to the campsite, it was to find that half the group had already left.

Brian stepped back with a sigh of satisfaction; he'd spent the last few minutes properly sealing the hole in the ceiling and now it was finished at last.

'Now Alisha's here, I'll be heading off.'

He looked up to see Martinez standing in the doorway. It was the first time the man had spoken to him since the attack.

Martinez spoke with gravity. 'Radio me immediately if there's any sign of trouble.'

'You have my word.'

'Good.' Martinez hesitated just a moment too long, his eyes narrowing. 'I know I can trust you when Lilly's life is at stake.'

Brian forced his fingers not to clench. He nodded, once.

Martinez exhaled. 'All right. With any luck, I'll see you again tomorrow in the Terminus compound.' His point made, he turned and walked away. Brian watched until he had climbed into his caravan and driven out of the clearing, two other caravans trailing after his until only empty ones were left.

Lilly had her arm around Tara. 'You'll see her soon. Tomorrow we'll all be together again.'

Brian went over to them. 'If it rains tonight there won't be a leak for once.'

Tara smiled half-heartedly, giving him a light punch on the arm. 'Who'd have guessed you had a sense of humour?'

'I did,' said Meghan importantly. 'He told me he was a pirate – but I knew it was a joke.'

Brian dropped to a crouch and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. 'You got me.' Then he hugged her tightly, closing his eye for a moment. She was so small and thin. One way or another, he vowed silently, she would survive.

Meghan started wriggling and he pulled away. Lilly smiled at him over Meghan's head, before drawing Meghan into her arms. 'I love you so much,' she murmured into Meghan's hair. 'I always will.' When she stepped back she had tears in her eyes.

Meghan smiled, being brave for both of them. 'Don't worry, Mommy,' she said, pointing at her bird brooch. 'They won't catch me. I'll run fast.'

They all laughed, Lilly's laugh coming out rather high and choked. Brian helped Lilly put on her pack before shouldering his. They'd packed a lot more than they needed; they had to look like they'd been living out of those backpacks for weeks.

'Keep her safe,' said Tara, looking Brian in the eye.

He didn't look away. 'I will.'

Then he and Lilly turned and walked out of the clearing, stopping every few steps to wave. Tara and Meghan waved back from the step of the caravan. As they reached the trees Lilly put on a burst of speed. 'Let's move – or I won't be able to leave.'

But Brian stopped a few metres into the forest and looked over his shoulder. The caravan door was shut; the clearing was deserted. He turned and walked after Lilly.

* * *

 _A/N: I would like to say a sincere thank you to my reviewers for reviewing so regularly. Each one of your reviews keeps me inspired. I would particularly like to thank Maggs91 for her lovely words and encouragement. It means such a lot to me._

 _Thanks to LadyIngenue for her help with some fiddly (and sometimes dilemma-inducing) phrasing._

 _If you haven't yet reviewed, I'd love to hear from you._


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The man with the crossbow kept shifting about and shooting dark, nasty looks at the blind man. From time to time he cursed and muttered to himself, something like 'Goddamn bastard,' and once or twice, a strange-sounding word that might have been a name, 'Merle'. Obviously the rough-looking man had a very personal reason to dislike her companion. From what she'd heard, he was one of many.

'Who is this man to you?'

Her questioner was a tall slim man with dark hair and a groomed beard. He stood with his hands on his hips, his blue eyes moving between her and her companion, watchful and suspicious.

She paused. 'He would have been my brother-in-law, in a world where people still got married.'

'Then you had a sister. What happened to her?'

She glanced at the blind man. His face was set grimly. 'She's dead. So is her daughter, my niece.'

When the man with the crossbow had found them he'd frisked them before marching them to the prison walls, where he'd signalled to the lookout in the watchtower. Ten minutes later a group of five had come out to meet them, all with guns at the ready.

Before she could speak, her companion had told them about the tank, telling them to hurry before someone else took it, and to take plenty of fuel with them. He'd maintained throughout that they should take in Tara in exchange for the tank. He didn't care what they did with him, as long as they agreed to take her in. She deserved a good place.

But she'd refused to leave him.

Three of the strangers had left to fetch fuel and then bring back the tank, while the man with the crossbow, the tall man, and an old man with a stump for a leg remained.

Rick Grimes gave her a hard look, and she tried not to quail. She knew this man and Brian had history. But she was determined to show that it was precisely that: history. Things were different now.

She held her ground. 'They loved him; we were a family. And Brian loved them too.'

She broke off, her throat tight. Rick watched her calmly.

Then Brian spoke. 'Philip Blake.' His voice was low, empty. 'Brian Heriot is gone. He doesn't exist anymore.'

No one spoke for a while. The old man's blue eyes were thoughtful as they searched Blake's face.

Rick turned back to Tara. 'Why are you still protecting him?'

'Because he used to protect me.' She grew pained. 'There's no one else left. He's all I have. Whatever he may have done in the past – and he's told me everything – he's changed. He loved my sister, and my niece - more than anything. He would do anything to change what happened, to make them live again.' She sucked in a deep breath. 'Just look at him; you can see how he's suffered. He can't do any more to you – he won't hurt anyone ever again. He deserves your pity, not your censure.'

Philip Blake said nothing, his expression inscrutable.

Tara glanced at him before fixing Rick with a firm look. 'What happened in the past is over. It can never happen again. It's over.'

* * *

Rick found it hard to look at the man who had once been the Governor. Every few minutes, the left side of his face covered by bandages wept blood. No doubt the bandage concealed something hideous and raw – it would be a wonder if the wound had not become infected.

Had Blake deserved to lose his other eye? Knowing the Governor, he probably did.

Who had been the one to take it?

Tara, the young woman, puzzled him almost as much. There was something like anger in her expression when she looked at Blake, and yet there was a fierce protectiveness too. She'd positioned herself between Daryl and Blake, like a shield.

Brian Heriot, he'd called himself. Who had that man been? His existence could only have been very brief. What had happened to end it?

'We might be able to take you in,' Rick told Tara. 'But we can't take him.'

Her chin jutted, but Blake spoke before she could.

'You'll take Tara. We've given you the tank. Take Tara; and you'll never have to see me again.'

Tara broke in: 'I'm not done yet.' Her hands were on her hips as she stared Rick down. 'You said he can't come. Why not?'

'He can't come because he wouldn't pass the three questions.'

'Three questions? What three questions? I've lost count of how many you've asked me but there were a whole lot more than three.'

Rick Grimes sighed, rubbing his temples with finger and thumb. 'There are three questions we ask everyone we think about letting in. If they pass, they can stay. If not, they go.' He paused. 'You'd pass them, maybe. But since you say you won't come in without him, there's not much point asking you them.'

'Try me. And him, too. He deserves a chance.'

Rick shook his head.

'It's only fair!'

'She's right, Rick,' said the old man. He hadn't spoken in a long time, but his voice had an immediate effect of calm. Even the man with the crossbow stopped muttering for a moment, though he started again when he heard what the old man said next.

'You should at least ask the questions. It's the fair thing to do. And, who knows. His answers may surprise you.'

Rick sighed. 'You have to understand; even if he answers them to my satisfaction, he won't be allowed in without the approval of the council. Herschel and Daryl here are both on the council, but there are three other members. And none of them like your friend much more than I do.'

Tara nodded. 'I understand.'

* * *

 _A/N: The structure of this story is different to anything I've done before. I am trying my hardest to make sure the structure sticks, so that I don't make last minute changes and confuse everybody. If I do have to make changes, though, I will make those changes very clear in future A/Ns._

 _Thanks (again!) to LadyIngenue for her help with this chapter :)_


	7. Chapter 6

_A/N: Thanks to LadyIngenue._

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

 _The woods are deep and silent. The little girl thinks she's safe. But between the trees there are wolves and hunters waiting. For now she's out of reach – but for how much longer?_

 _They're waiting._

* * *

From a long way off they saw the letters painted onto the boarded up windows, black against white: TERMINUS. As they trudged toward the red brick building, Brian could not shake off his feeling of exposure. The forest was cleared back for half a mile on either side of them. The sun was very high, chasing away almost every shadow, leaving nowhere to hide. To their left was a throng of railway tracks, neatly lined up beside each other like tilled metal fields. Before them and to their right was an expanse of grey gravel that crunched under their feet. Close to the building was a growth of uncut grass, too thin and pale to conceal anyone. There was no one in sight; not even an animal.

 _Terminus._ It truly was an end, a limit.

The strangest thing for him was the lack of walls. It looked as though there would be an enclosed, protected space beyond the outbuildings, but here there was only one flimsy-looking wire fence running around the complex.

Lilly walked at his side, drawn and silent. Like him she had her gun in hand – the gun he'd given her back in her apartment building – and her eyes were scanning back and forth. He'd woken that morning to see her smiling down at him softly, her hand tracing circles under his shirt. But now the set of her mouth was hard and determined.

She was ready for anything. She still kept some of the hope she'd held while at Martinez's camp; but hope had hardened into resolve. Terminus had to be safe enough for Meghan to live there – and if it wasn't, they would make it safe, together.

He felt the weight of the walkie-talkie in his jacket pocket, imagining he could sense Martinez and the Dolgen brothers waiting on the other side. They'd agreed he would only contact them in an emergency, or once he deemed Terminus was safe enough to enter as refuge-seekers rather than as invaders. Without warning he found himself wishing that he could speak to Meghan through the radio signal and hear her high little voice again, her laugh. But by the end of the day he would be with her again.

They reached the fence and pushed open the gate, closing it behind them. They were walking on concrete now, only two dozen yards away from the red brick building. On their left was the towering, ghostlike skeleton of an unfinished building. There were some small potted trees set against the brick walls. Three beds of soil were lined up erratically to one side of the compound; but the beds were mostly brown, with only a few neatly planted pink and yellow flowers growing in them.

Woodbury had been very different.

They turned right and approached a dark red double-gated metal fence. To the right of the gates was a small crop of sunflowers. He couldn't help staring at them for a moment; their bright colour was incongruous in the bleached compound, and there was something unsettling about the way their heavy, dark, seed-laden heads bobbed up and down. They were too vibrant, too flourishing; too reminiscent of another time.

On one of the gates was a sign: 'Lower your weapons. You will be met. You have arrived in Terminus.'

He and Lilly looked at each other; and he knew that she shared his hesitation. Why were there no guards? How could the people here simply trust that strangers would lower their weapons?

'We'd better do as they say.'

With great reluctance, Brian holstered his gun and pushed open the gate. They turned the corner to find more red brick walls, and a wide corridor-like space. Here they saw the first signs of current human habitation; a table stacked with metal buckets and washboards and a wooden tub filled with wet clothing. A plastic washing basket, like the ones people everywhere had used to own, containing dry, folded clothes.

Since he'd lost the use of his right eye, his right ear had sharpened in compensation; and somewhere off to the right he heard the faint sound of a voice repeating the message he'd heard over the radio. A harsh crackling flared up inside his head – he shook it to clear it. There was no sound but for the soft, far-off voice, and his and Lilly's footfalls.

He needed to get a grip over his own thoughts; he couldn't afford to lose control, not when it might cost them everything.

Around the corner was a compound area, scattered with small round tables, each shaded by a large mismatched sun umbrella. There were only a handful of people sitting at the tables, and most of them sat alone. It was bizarre; like stumbling into a time capsule. There were no children.

Four men and one woman, her hair a dark red colour. They were skinny, but certainly not starving. They looked up with watchful, sullen faces as Brian and Lilly rounded the corner. He sensed a complacency about them; these were people who had not been directly threatened by danger for a long time; perhaps they'd almost forgotten the urgency of fear. The people of Woodbury had been like that. Their security had made them weak, he realised now. Too trusting. He'd been the one to make them that way. A memory of his slapdash militia flashed across his mind; Shumpert, a more youthful Martinez, a nameless young man sporting dark sunglasses and a black printed headband.

But the people of Terminus had an edge to their watchfulness that those in Woodbury had never had. As he looked around he saw something like hunger lurking just behind their carefully guarded faces, a hunger that jarred disturbingly with their complacency. There was something both empty and full about them at once.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him and Lilly. The woman was looking between them assessingly. As she studied him he thought he saw appraisal, but then her gaze shifted to Lilly, taking in her thin arms, and pinched face, and her eyes turned hard.

He turned away, drawing closer to Lilly. Who was the leader here? Not one of the people at the tables had yet moved. None of them looked like fighters. He wondered where the strong ones were.

'Hi.'

A woman in a long grey knitted cardigan was walking toward them. Her greying brown hair was tied in a plait over her left shoulder, but thick chunks and strands were coming loose. Her face was too lined and worn for the youthful style; the effect was unsettling.

She was smiling at him. He blinked and for a moment her face was a carnival mask, sharp yellow teeth bared in a cragged witch's face.

'I'm Mary.' Her eyes crinkled pleasantly and the horrible vision faded. 'Looks like you've been on the road a while.'

Brian said nothing. Lilly nodded, not quite smiling back.

The woman's smile widened. 'Let's get you settled and we'll make you a plate. I'm just about to get the barbecue going. Welcome to Terminus.'

He and Lilly sat at one of the empty tables while Mary fired up the barbecue and began searing slabs of meat. It had been so long since he'd eaten meat that wasn't possum; or something smaller. He felt juices forming in his mouth.

As he waited, his eyes kept moving around the compound, counting their weapons, assessing what kind of people they were. In Woodbury he'd had a knack for reading people; but these strangers were slippery, less easy to gauge.

Lilly was equally restless, her leg jumping against his. He put a hand on her knee, applying a gentle pressure until it stopped bouncing; and she glanced at him with a tired smile. Something constricted his ribs violently; and he knew that he would do anything to make Terminus safe for her. Even if it meant turning back and becoming the man he'd once been. He'd held back for so long – frightened of that darkness and its power to overwhelm. He couldn't bear the thought of Lilly and Meghan fearing that darkness – fearing him. But better they fear him and live, then have them die because he'd failed to save them.

'Here; you look like you could do with a good helping.' Mary had come to their table.

She held out two plates heaped with barbecue meat, coleslaw and boiled potatoes; an offering. The smell of the meat was almost overpowering. Somewhere in the back of his mind stirred a distant memory of reading aloud to Penny. A story about a forest, and a witch, and a house made of gingerbread. Ridiculous: he pushed the thought aside and took both the plates. He set them on the table, pushed his fork into a piece of meat, and hesitated.

He could not shake the feeling that if they ate this meal, there was no going back. They would not be able to leave.

But Lilly needed this; and he had to admit that he did too.

He ate his way through the meal slowly and steadily, though his hunger made him want to cast aside cutlery and devour it with his fingers. He glanced at Lilly often to satisfy himself that she was eating too.

At some point Mary went off into one of the buildings, leaving the barbecue to one of the men.

Brian's plate was clean; he got up to return it. The red-haired woman who'd watched him earlier now crossed the space in front of him, on her way for a second helping.

He froze.

Glinting on the woman's coat was a gold brooch with tiny emeralds, in the shape of a starling.

Meghan's brooch.

In an instant his arm was wrapped around the woman's neck, his gun pressed to her head.

Silence fell across the compound. The men were on their feet, their faces set and sullen. Two of them were pointing guns at Brian, but the other two just stood there. Lilly was at his side in an instant, her gun aimed at one of the armed men.

The woman struggled against his hold, falling still when he pushed the gun harder into her skull.

His voice was very low, dangerously controlled. 'Where did you get that brooch?'


	8. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thanks to LadyIngenue for her help with this chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

It felt like hours had passed, though in reality it had been only minutes. Tara could not remember ever feeling more exhausted, as though answering Rick's questions had drained her of something tangible. Perhaps it was because the whole time she had been wondering what her companion's answers would be. Her own answers had been brief and honest, and Rick had seemed satisfied. Now it was Brian's turn.

'How many walkers have you killed?'

He spoke in a low, dull voice. 'Dozens. Too many to count. Same as you.' He fell silent. 'But it's never enough. There was a time I believed it could be reversed. That they were still in there somewhere. But I was wrong; they're lost to us. I know that now.'

Rick considered him. 'How many people have you killed?'

'Too many.'

Rick waited but the blind man said nothing more. Even the breeze in the trees and the animals far off seemed to fall silent. Only the singing continued; a young woman's voice, emotional and haunting.

Later, Tara found that while she had forgotten all her own answers to Rick's questions, this last answer of Brian's – Philip Blake's – was embedded in her memory.

'Why?' Rick Grimes had asked, and everything had gone silent, waiting.

'I had reasons when I did it – reasons I can't remember now.' His face tightened. 'There were people who relied on me – I killed them, one way or another. I thought I was saving them, but they ended up dead.' He put a hand to the bloodied bandage, as if to rub his eye, then dropped his arm as he realised the uselessness of the gesture.

'For so long I tried to avoid that responsibility – I tried not to care. But it found me again.' He was silent. 'I should be dead. It should have happened a long time ago; and if you turn me away I will be soon. But as long as I live, their faces will stay with me. And when it becomes too much, I won't be able to open my eyes and fill my head with the sight of other things. I can never look away from what I've done. That is what I must live with. The cost of all I've done.'

* * *

After this, Rick had thought for a long time without speaking. At last he said, 'I have one more question. Can I ask it?'

Blake clenched and unclenched his jaw. 'You can.'

'Who took your other eye?'

He lifted his chin. Chills ran up Rick's arms and neck. It felt like there was an alert gaze behind those bloodied bandages; where no eyes were.

'I did.'


	9. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thank you to Maggs91 for her latest lovely review, which kick-started me to get this chapter finished. I also went ahead and drafted out the rest of the story, so it should all be up soon._

 _Please do leave a review if you haven't yet; I love hearing what you think._

 _Heartfelt thanks to LadyIngenue, who helped make this chapter so much better than I hoped it would be. You are the best critique partner I could wish for, and I am so very grateful._

 _With this chapter the story starts to reach its conclusion at last. Brace yourselves…_

* * *

' _No,' said Lizzie, 'No, no, no_ _;_ _  
Their offers should not charm us,  
Their evil gifts would harm us.' – _Christina Rossetti, _Goblin Market_

 **Chapter 8**

 _Faces appear at the window, pale against the night. They are men's faces, ugly and frightening._

' _No need to be scared, little girl.'_

 _Her song fades into silence: 'With silver bells and cockleshells…'_

' _Be a good little girl and let us in.'_

 _When they refuse the men smash in the window and aim their guns. 'Unlock the door, or we'll kill the little girl.'_

* * *

Silence had fallen throughout the compound. No one looked away from the sight of the one-eyed man with his arm wrapped around the struggling woman's neck, his gun pushed into her skull.

'Get off me!'

'Not until you answer my question.'

'There're a lot more of us than you! If you want answers, put down the gun.'

He wondered why the men had still not moved. Their faces were set and sullen – they did not seem afraid of what he would do to the woman. Rather, they were watching him with something like resentment – he was stirring up trouble. What bonds were there between these people? He had the sense that if it came to a matter of life and death they would turn on each other in an instant.

'Brian!' Lilly now had her gun aimed upwards, at the man who had appeared on the roof, his sniper rifle trained on Brian.

Brian shifted so that the woman was between him and the sniper. 'The girl you took this brooch from – where is she?'

'Girl?' The woman's voice was shrill; her earlier mettle breaking down. 'There was no girl – it's mine, my grandmother left it to me when she died.'

His voice went very low and hard. 'Don't lie to me.' He looked over at Lilly. 'Take the brooch.'

She understood at once. Unpinning the brooch from the woman's coat, she lifted it to her eyes, turning it over. The blood drained from her face, her voice barely more than a whisper.

'M. C.'

There was a ringing inside his head, on and on. Something was slipping, the single thread of his self-control now close to tearing. Then his hand tightened around the gun and he forced it harder against the woman's skull.

She yelled – then physically shuddered as she salvaged some measure of control. 'It's for Mary – Mary Cooper. My grandmother's name.'

'Liar.' He was doing all he could not to kill her now as the old rage rose within him. If he pulled the trigger Lilly would be caught in the crossfire – and he would have no way of knowing where Meghan was. 'Tell me where the girl is – or I'll kill you.'

A man's voice called, 'Stand down! I have this.'

Brian whirled around, his gun still pressed against the woman's head. A skinny man with a long fringe was walking towards them, his hands out at his sides, weapon-less. At his words the sniper lowered his rifle.

'Gareth!' cried out the woman, her voice caught between relief, fear and anger. 'Get this man off me!'

Gareth ignored her, looking straight at Brian. 'It's Brian, isn't it? What do you want, Brian?' He looked almost bored.

Brian felt a surge of instinctive dislike for the other man. 'I want my daughter. You have her brooch. If you don't tell me where she is, I'll kill this woman, and then I'll kill you.'

'You wouldn't live long enough to do it.' Gareth gestured at the sniper.

' _Gareth!'_ The woman almost sounded more afraid of Gareth than the gun pressed to her head.

'Shut up,' he told her, irritation flashing across his narrow features.

Lilly was shaking, her eyes darting around the yard. 'Please - where is she? My daughter!'

Gareth looked at her with a coolness that enraged Brian. Before he could speak a radio beeped. Brian flinched; but it was the other man's, not his. Gareth watched Brian narrowly as he lifted his walkie-talkie to his mouth. He raised his free hand to shoulder height.

'What is it?'

There was a crackle of static. _'There's a tank! They've got a fucking tank – '_

Suddenly the voice cut off and the line went dead. No one moved, or spoke.

Something hard crossed Gareth's face. His raised hand closed.

Faster than thought Brian twisted so that the woman shielded him. A shot rang out – and the woman crumpled, her head gushing blood. He dropped her and cast about for Lilly – she was already running, away from him, towards an open door.

He leapt after her. A burst of machine gunfire made him flinch. But it was at a distance – Martinez. There was a blast of tank fire. Then; the explosion. The ground lurched; the buildings shifting. He just managed to stay on his feet, stumbling forwards; ears ringing.

* * *

 _Inch by inch they open the door. Four different guns are trained on them. The leader grins, his teeth yellowed and stained. 'There; not so hard after all. Now why don't you both step outside. Taste the night air.'_

 _The young woman trembles with anger, but obeys, holding fast to the little girl. They make her let go in order to bind her hands. Then they reach for the girl._

'Move fast, like that bird, if you're ever in danger.'

 _The man's hand touches her arm – and she bolts. Her feet pound, her heart hammers. 'Run! Run!' her Aunt Tara calls. She is flying, moving faster than she's ever moved in her life._

 _Then something slams into her legs and she tumbles to the ground._

* * *

The people around him erupted into panic. But all he could think of was Lilly. He charged after her, spurts of gunfire ricocheting behind him, drowning out shouted instructions. He tore into the building – and saw her several metres ahead of him. She was sprinting towards a square entrance – which was rapidly shrinking as a metal security shutter began to descend. 'Lilly!' he called, but she paid no attention. She ducked through – before he was halfway to it the way was sealed. He spun around, searching desperately, and saw another door leading into the open air. He ran; as he emerged outside he heard a man's voice over a PA system.

 _'Multiple shots fired at the perimeter. This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill.'_

What was this place? Who – or what – were these people?

He kept running, through a yard empty of life, strewn with scrapped cars and strips of dirty, rusted metal. It couldn't be more different to the entrance yard. The walls and the cars were ridden with bullet holes – where was Lilly?

He ran past a blue tarpaulin, piled with what looked like bloodied ribcages and skulls. He slowed for a moment to look more closely. Something about them told him they had been human corpses, not biters. His throat closed up in dread – what had happened here?

He fought back his fear and ran on, resolving to kill without hesitation should anyone be fool enough to obstruct him.

As he crossed the yard, there were muffled, terrified cries: 'Help! Help us!' The voices were coming from two huge boxcars stacked on top of each other. He paid them no attention, though they made the hair on his arms and neck rise.

At last he found an open entrance which lead back the way Lilly had run off in. He darted inside. There was an open door on the opposite side of the room. He was moments away when a woman appeared on the other side and reached to close it. He raised his gun. A split second before he shot, he recognised her; Mary, her face contorted, her true self exposed.

He pulled the trigger. She fell backwards, dead, blood blossoming from the hole between her eyes.

He didn't look twice as he leapt over her body. He had emerged into yet another empty yard – there was no sign of Lilly.

A blast of feedback made his heart stop. _'The perimeter has been breached. Report to Zone B. I repeat; report to Zone B.'_

The announcement ended; and now he could hear cries for help coming from the boxcar across the yard – this time, heart plummeting, he recognised the lone voice.

'Tara?'

' _Brian!'_

He rushed across the yard, snatching up one of the bricks scattered on the ground. In an instant he'd smashed the lock open.

'Meghan? Is she with you?'

'They took her.' Tara's face appeared out of the darkness. 'You have to find her – _now!'_

For a moment he couldn't move as despair and hope warred within him.

'Lilly – where is she?'

'She ran ahead. Looking for Meghan. I lost her.'

Tara grabbed his arms to steady him. 'You go into the building behind you. I'll go left. One of us will find them.'

He nodded, unable to speak, and grasped one of her hands tightly. Then he turned and ran into the building.

* * *

' _That was a stupid thing to do, little girl,' a rough voice snarls in her ear. 'You'd better not try that again.' He spins her around and shoves her back toward the others. 'Let's start walking.'_

 _They march for a long time. When she starts stumbling the leader picks her up and puts her on his shoulders. 'It'll be over soon; you'll see,' he wheedles in his harsh voice. 'No more monsters.'_

 _They reach a clearing, where a car is waiting. They are bundled onto the back seat, the little girl sitting on the young woman's lap – an armed man on either side of them._

 _The car drives off through the woods. It's pitch black outside, and it's still dark when they leave the trees and drive towards a distant building with black letters on its boarded-up windows. Meghan spells them out aloud, arriving at the word, 'Terminus'._

* * *

Yet another huge, grey room stretched ahead of him. There was no one in sight. On the far side of the room was a half-opened door. His skin prickled. Somehow he knew Lilly was near.

He strode forwards, his hand gripping his gun, his breath ragged from running.

He would find them both – he'd keep them safe till the fighting was over and Martinez took over the compound – he'd keep them safe –

A scream. Lilly's scream. He charged, slamming the door into the wall, his eyes searching; his gun raised.

There was a shot. His eyes were drawn to her instantly; he darted forwards, catching her as she fell. Her head tipped back on his arm, her wide eyes sightless.

'No – no.' He shook her loose body. 'Lilly…' Nothing quite registered past the shock; but the first thing he thought was to punish the person who'd killed her. He lurched to his feet, staggering away from her, turning a full circle, ready to shoot – to kill.

But there was no one there. Then he saw the pistol still in her hand; she'd shot herself. And as he looked around the room again, still reeling, he now realised why.

Several metal operating tables were lined up along the walls. On one of them was the body of a girl. Meghan's body. Her eyes were closed, her face frozen and bloodless. Her throat was slashed. There was a neat wound in the side of her head, the faintest of bloodstains on her hair. Her clothes were gone. So were her legs.

* * *

He saw again the plates of food Mary had held out to him, her eyes crinkling pleasantly.

He bent double, retching up the entire contents of his stomach until there was nothing left – but it was too late. He would always know.

The stumps of Meghan's legs were like magnets – but there was nothing he wanted to look at less. He snatched up a nearby sheet of tarpaulin and threw it over her body.

Shaking, he knelt down by Lilly and closed her eyes. One of her hands was clenched in a tight fist. He prised open her fingers to find Meghan's brooch and a silver necklace – Tara's. How had Lilly found it? She must have assumed that Tara was dead – mutilated, as Meghan was, and decided that life was no longer worth living.

But _he_ had still been alive –

He'd called her name as she'd run ahead of him, but she hadn't looked back. He'd been close enough to catch her when she fell. If she'd waited just a moment longer –

He took the necklace and put it into his pocket mechanically, but kept the brooch in his hand, the jewels hard and cold against his skin. He wanted to leave that abysmal room, but when he tried to walk his legs collapsed and he fell.

He could feel the world dropping out from under him; felt again that devastating numbness which had sustained him through those months of wandering after Woodbury, all the while killing him one day at a time until he had lain down to die.

When Penny had died, Michonne had been there to take his eye.

He ground the brooch in his palm until his skin was torn and bloodied. The image of Meghan's mutilated body returned to him, branded in his mind for eternity. The bird snapped off; all that was left was the long pin. With a roar he plunged it into his seeing eye.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

He couldn't see – would never again have vision – but the pain was like being blinded twice over. He writhed, bending double, his hands clutched to that pulsing pain, where the blood dripped and flowed alternately, coating his fingers and his cheeks –

He could feel his skin growing clammy and moist with cold sweat. His strength was bleeding out, his chest heaving as he gulped in rapid breaths. His insides curdled in a sickening, squeezing sensation that made him retch and heave when there was nothing left but the lining of his stomach. He was losing track of the boundary between pain and self, where he began and where he ended.

* * *

Memories blurred, running through his mind chaotically. A sloping street, safe and civilised; children sailing by on scooters. Ice boxes, multi-coloured triangular pennants flapping in the breeze. An arena where apocalyptic gladiators fought against toothless, nail-less biters, while searchlights rocked back and forth overhead. A secret laboratory, decaying bodies stretched out on tables. An old man slowly dying while a record played on repeat: a woman's voice, wistful and soothing, two framed paintings suspended in mid-air. A cupboard, in which something growled and thudded.

'What's your secret?'

'Really big walls.'

* * *

 _Mary, Mary, quite contrary,_

 _How does your garden grow?_

Sunflowers waving in the breeze, heavy heads drooping. A girl had been turned into a sunflower for loving the sun god. On the other side of a great ocean it was believed that slipping a bit of sunflower oil or seeds into someone's drink would give you their loyalty. Others associated the sunflower with luck, or great joy – and some believed it could be mixed into an ointment which would help you see the Faerie folk. Mix sunflower oil with sun-oriented flowers, and leave in the sun for three days until it thickens.

* * *

A samurai sword placed neatly behind glass. An old man with a stump for a leg. A dark-haired girl hunched over a chessboard. A blind man peeling potatoes.

Who is he? He wanted to be someone without a past – but how can that work? _Philip Blake, The Governor, Brian Heriot, One-eye Bri_ – except now he was No-eye Bri.

 _He didn't trust anyone else to keep them safe._

He'd fixed the hole in the caravan ceiling, but he'd broken everything else.

* * *

 _The road glistens, reflecting the red glow of dozens of brake lights blooming in the rain._

' _The flight was all right? No delays?'_

' _Let's not talk about that now. I'm just glad to be back. How's Penny?'_

' _Well, she was huffing that she had to go to bed before her daddy got home, but she'll be happy again when he goes upstairs to kiss her goodnight.' She looks at him, her eyes softening. 'I missed you.'_

 _Phillip smiles, leans over and kisses her cheek._

* * *

A wall scrawled with messages, one name recurring. A near-empty block of apartments, a Gorbelli's van parked outside. A dead old woman strapped into a wheelchair, her arms reaching for him as the wheels meandered back and forth erratically. A hastily dug grave, a tarpaulin-covered body slung silently into the hollow. A photograph burning in an ashtray – had he still possessed it he would have no use for it now.

All the boundaries he'd tried to preserve between past and present – they were breaking, rupturing –

* * *

The moment when she'd run into his arms, trusting him to catch her and keep her safe. She'd been warm – alive – and she hadn't tried to claw at him, or bite –

He ran, clutching her to him, only to tumble into one of his own pits.

'Your old leader was batshit crazy.'

'Oh, I wouldn't go that far,' said Martinez, thoughtful as he regarded Brian. 'It was more that he was … mercurial.'

Rain lashing his face as he stared down at Martinez writhing in the mud, briefly imagining how soft his skull would be –

'Did the wrong thing to the wrong man,' Martinez had said, when they'd found the beheaded men.

* * *

'What did you do when it all went bad?'

'I survived.'

* * *

'But why "survive"? Why not "live"?'

Although similar in meaning, the context makes these two words differ significantly.

A _Live_ mode is one that is based on deferred rewards for actions taken today. Longitudinal, big-picture, goal-oriented thinking.

The trajectory of a life that is being actively ravaged by mental illness […] posttraumatic stress disorder, etc. is often on a steep decline. Such a trajectory is a punishing movement that brings people into contact with emotions and experiences that they never knew existed. The momentum of your life stops. You move into _Survival_ mode.

Nietzsche once said, 'To live is to suffer; to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.'

But is there any meaning left?

Survival is for ants, not humans.

* * *

Terminus, a spider crouched in the middle of its web, a monster hidden deep within a maze. Dozens of coloured lines leading to one place.

If he'd taken Lilly's path to Meghan's body, would she still be alive?

* * *

'It doesn't look good. The glass has done a lot of damage.'

The little girl runs away from him, hides behind the sofa. 'It'll take time.'

' _Brian.'_

'People with nothing to hide don't usually feel the need to say so.'

'There has to be someplace better and you're going to help us find it.'

' _Brian!'_

'And they still think I'm the man that can keep them safe. They still think I know what I'm doing.'

'You've obviously got big plans. Like you're the guy who's gonna lick this thing. Bring us back from the brink. So why waste your time on a two-bit vendetta? Why risk it all? You could have a statue of yourself in the town square, Governor.'

'Am I good?'

' _Are you with me?'_

'We found you too! _'_

* * *

Someone was calling to him, shaking his shoulder, the gesture almost genial. 'Brian. Brian! Are you with me?'

That voice – he knew it, though he'd heard it little more than a handful of times. Clarity rushed through him in an instant. He _hated_ that voice.

* * *

 _A/N: Just two chapters left after this one._

 _In this chapter I've adapted various facts and quotations I found from brief internet searches. One of my main sources was a Psych Congress Network page on psychiatrist-patient relationship building._

 _Thanks to LadyIngenue for her notes :)_


	11. Chapter 10

_A/N: This chapter will contain strong violence._

* * *

' _A sight you will behold to move the pity even of an enemy.' – Sophocles,_ Oedipus Rex

 **Chapter 10**

The voice had a smile in it. 'There you are.' The hand withdrew from his shoulder. Footsteps retreated a short distance away. Now the voice was false, bright. 'So now you know.'

 _Now I know._

'You should also know – I guess – that your friends are dead, or as good as. But then so are all of mine ... though I wouldn't exactly call them "friends" ... so I'd say we're square.' A pause. 'So really, we have all the time in the world.' There was a scraping sound; a chair being dragged across the floor, then creaking as Gareth sat.

'You know, you should be grateful you can't see yourself. It brings to mind a particular quote – what was it? Ah yes: "Oh horror, horror, horror!"' He spoke the words with relish. '"Tongue nor heart cannot conceive nor name thee!" It's from _Macbeth,_ of course _._ ' There was a smile in his voice: 'Much later the man who says those words learns that his wife and children have been murdered. In your case, if he'd said the words in that moment instead, it would have been too perfect.' He paused, conscious of his own cleverness.

Brian had no strength or will left to move. He could only listen, the metallic smell of his own blood filling his head, letting the words wash over him until they hurt too much to ignore.

'When the man hears that his friend has brought painful news, he demands to hear it outright – like ripping off a plaster. Would you agree that was the best way? Or is it better to be prepared for it slowly?'

He waited but Brian did not speak, feeling only a simmering anger. All he wanted was to wait for death. But now even that was denied him by the cruel words that gave him no peace.

For the first time Brian realised that he was tied to something solid – a post of some sort. He tried to move his arms, but they were bound fast.

'We don't let children join us. I don't know if you guessed. They're too weak, you see. It's incongruous, really. I often think children would be so much faster to take to this life of ours. They're so adaptable. And they have such a penchant for cruelty. Surely it would be better, _kinder_ , to become like us while still a child, free of the taboos that give you a stomach-ache afterwards. As an adult, it's so much more bother to overcome…

'I want to explain myself to you a little. See, it wasn't just a trap; it was going to be a choice.' His voice was grave. 'You join us, or feed us. When a mother bear is starving, she eats her young. If the bear dies, the cub dies anyway. But if the bear lives, it can always have another cub.' He paused. 'Like you did.'

Brian let out a snarl and lurched forward – but was jerked back by his tied arms.

'So you are listening after all… You aren't responding much, all things considered. It's like you expected this to happen. I have to admit, that was a lucky guess; a shot in the dark. But I think I'm right, after all. You had another daughter before all this. One who looked like you. How old was she? Seven, like Meghan was?'

Brian was trembling now. If he had not been bound he would have throttled Gareth in an instant.

'The bear story was part of the pitch. Not that there'll be any more pitches – at least not in the foreseeable future. This place is over, thanks to you. Soon "the neighbours" will be here – a whole herd of them. They have a real problem with – what would you call it? – excessive noise levels. And even when we're quiet … You know how it is. Put up a few signs, offer sanctuary and suddenly everyone wants in. But there's never enough flesh to go around.'

Through the spasms of pain his hatred focused on that voice, droning on and on when no words mattered any more, or would ever matter again. His hands flexed, jumping, and something brushed against his fingers; the blade of a knife. Keeping his face very still, he grasped hold of the knife handle and began to saw at the ropes around his hands.

'I have to admit your plan was clever. Splitting off into three groups … I'm surprised my spotters didn't see your people sooner. I'm curious: was your group planning to let my people surrender? Or were you even planning to join us, after you'd sniffed out our dirty secrets? Though I don't think that would have gone down too well…' He chuckled. 'I found the necklace in your pocket. We took it from your girlfriend's sister – Tara, right? – early this morning. Lilly must have walked through the Finders Keepers Room. That's where she would have found Tara's necklace.' He had a sickening ability to remember names – names he had no right to speak.

'The memorial room is right next door to that one; so she probably walked through there, too. It's a strange room; can be a bit creepy if you aren't prepared. There are hundreds of candles – always kept lit – and names, thirty-six of them, written on the ground. And then there are the messages on the walls.' He laughed. 'Even if she hadn't realised something was wrong by then, that would have triggered something. When she saw her daughter dead, she must have assumed her sister was, too.'

He was quiet for a while. When he spoke his voice was low, almost sympathetic. 'I get why you did it. You need to be held accountable. And there was no one left to do that but you, right? No law courts, no tribunals. Just you.'

Silence. Then the chair creaked as Gareth got to his feet, took a few steps. Pieces of metal were rummaged around – then there was the hair-raising sound of a knife being sharpened.

'I know you killed my mother.' For the first time some of Gareth's control seemed to slip, giving Brian a surge of satisfaction. He sawed harder at the ropes around his wrists.

'At least it was quick and neat; I'll give you that,' Gareth continued, unable to hide his bitterness.

Brian spoke at last, his voice low. 'Witch, child-eater. She got less than she deserved.'

Gareth's voice turned hard, but he didn't stop grinding the knife. 'On that we can both agree. You know, this wasn't going to be personal. It never was before – actually, that's not quite true. It certainly was right at the start, when we took back this place. But I can't pretend that _this_ isn't personal. Oh it is; it really is. It's a pity I don't have longer. There are all sorts of things I could do. Like roasting Lilly's limbs one by one … followed by your own. But I'll do what I can in the time I have left. You'll find I'm very skilled with these tools. I had to be.'

The rasping sound scraped loudly, then was cut off deliberately. Footsteps came closer.

The bonds around his hands fell away.

'You were a leader once, I can tell. Probably a good one.' He let out a short laugh. 'And by good I mean effective, of course. Somehow I don't think you would have let morality be your compass. Probably you did something to someone and that was how you lost your eye. The first one, I mean.'

He could feel Gareth's breath on his face, could almost hear his lips draw back as he gloated.

 _Did the wrong thing to the wrong man._

He surged upwards, knocking Gareth back so that he fell, his head hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Brian kicked him before he had the chance to recover – once, twice in the stomach. Then he stamped on Gareth's legs one at a time, breaking them. While Gareth writhed and shrieked, he felt around him – and his hand closed on something wooden and solid. With something between horror and fascination he realised it was a baseball bat. What part of their sick scheme did such an object play? Had they used it on Meghan?

An awful blackness swelled up inside him. He raised the bat high – and swung it down. Something smashed – Gareth screamed. Brian lifted the bat and brought it down again – and again – and again. By the fourth time Gareth could only whimper. He raised the bat once more – but then let it waver and fall to his side, swinging gently.

He would let the man die. Leave enough of the brain to let him turn, if the biters didn't find him first.

Dropping the bat, he stumbled away, emerging into daylight. The sun warmed his face but he saw nothing.

A dozen steps were all he managed before all willpower left him and his legs collapsed.

In the distance he could hear screams and an incessant rush of flames. He lay still, numbed by pain and exhaustion. He would never feel anything good again. Nor did he wish to.

' _Brian!'_

He was not sure whether he said the words out loud or in his head: 'Go – leave me, whoever you are … Let me die.'

'Brian?'

It was Tara, her voice filled with horrified pity. He felt the stinging of phantom tears.

'Tara – go now while you have the chance.'

'I won't leave you. Where are Meghan and Lilly?'

He felt a lurch of alarm. She must not find them. She must never know. 'Dead. Don't try to find them. Go, _now.'_

She was silent. Only distant screams and the roaring of flames could be heard. Then hands gripped his arms, pulling him upwards. 'You're coming with me.'

'No!' He pulled away from her with all his strength, knocking her off balance so that she fell to the ground.

A cry, then an angry sniff. When she spoke, her voice shook. 'Alisha's dead. She was shot between the eyes. Martinez is dead, too. And the Dolgen brothers, and so is everyone else. If my sister and Meghan…' The name cracked in her mouth. 'You're all I have left. If you won't leave of your own free will then I'm staying with you … If they're gone, there's nothing left for me.'

'Don't be so _stupid.'_ Blindly he reached out and caught hold of her arm, hauling her to her feet. 'Get out of here.'

Her voice was steady with determination. 'No. You're coming with me now, or we'll both die here.'

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks to LadyIngenue for her notes and her brilliant idea for Gareth's dialogue about 'the neighbours' and how there's never enough flesh to go around..._


	12. Epilogue

_A/N: I recently created a short_ _music video/fanvid_ _about Brian and Lilly which can be found on YouTube under the account Vogue Elf. Please do check it out._

* * *

 **Epilogue**

One night he woke, aware at once that someone was standing in his cell. After an initial flash of fear, he found he was strangely calm. He had been waiting for this without knowing it. He listened, anticipating the end.

A woman's voice spoke in the darkness, low and rich – he knew it at once. 'For months I searched for you. But the trail was cold. And now I return to find you've been admitted right into my abode, been given a home in _my_ home, where you have no right to be.'

Cold metal touched his throat. The tip of a blade. It nicked him, drawing a single bead of blood.

'I swore that if I found you, I'd cut you in half.'

He waited. The sword pressed harder for an instant; then was gone. He froze in disbelief.

She spoke again, this time from the doorway. 'But there is nothing more I can do to you. You've done it all to yourself.'

The door closed. He was alone.

Never again did he meet Michonne, or so much as hear her voice. She stayed out of his way, and he never sought her out.

* * *

Each sixteen-piece side was from a different set, one made of ceramic, the other of carved wood. As always, he played with the ceramic pieces.

'You said that if I won the game, you would tell me how you lost your eyes.'

The little girl shifted in her seat, leaning forwards, her blue eyes dancing. The day was bright, lighting up the colourful murals on the walls. The watchtower threw a shadow across the concrete. A dog shifted spots, chasing the sunlight. Off in the middle distance there was the sound of horses whickering, a cow lowing. And somewhere a young woman was singing, the song he'd heard when he'd first arrived at the prison.

He sat very still, soaking in the warmth of the sun on his forearms and face, listening to the faint words of the song, waiting for what his young companion might say next.

The girl sighed. She was the same age as Meghan when she'd died.

He never spoke unless to instruct her on the game. He never tried to touch her hand, or feel her dark hair. When she spoke in her high voice he would sometimes look pained, as though lost in memory. Then with an effort he would return to the present. But today the sun was too warm; the sounds too pleasing to allow overlong introspection.

'You promised,' she insisted.

His voice was gentle. 'So I did. It was a foolish promise.' He paused, picturing the board in his mind, imagining the various moves and countermoves that would be set in motion when he took his turn. As he made his decision, the corner of his lip lifted slightly. 'But you'll have to beat me first.'

She stuck out her tongue at him, playfully. If he had been able to see she might not have dared. 'I'll win one day. You'll see. I'm much better now. One day, I'll beat you.'

Her conviction drew a smile from him. 'We shall see. But perhaps not today...' Deftly, he picked up his queen and moved her forward, taking the remaining white bishop and removing the king's last escape route. 'Checkmate.'

* * *

 _A/N:_ _The little girl, in case you hadn't guessed, is a seven year old Judith Grimes._

* * *

 _Thank you to all the readers who stuck with me through this story. Please keep reviewing – I always reply, and I'd love to hear what you think._

 _Heartfelt thanks to LadyIngenue – without whose encouragement I might well not have finished this story. You made writing it an incredibly fun and enjoyable experience when I thought it would be painful and horrendous._

 _It's very satisfying to have completed this story: I had this epilogue written out before even publishing the prologue, so it feels like I've come full circle. From this story's conception I knew I wanted to use the 'Oh horror, horror, horror' quote from_ Macbeth _(over my education I've had to study that play no less than 3 times!), and I knew I wanted the Governor to take his remaining eye, like Oedipus does; all that was left was to create a strong enough reason for him to do so, and I hope that with this story I succeeded._

 _ **A sequel:**_

 _I've just published the first chapter for a loose, self-indulgent_ _ **sequel**_ _to this story. It's set at the prison and will focus on the developing relationship between Philip (The Governor) and Beth, as she helps him recover from both physical and emotional wounds. If you're interested, do check it out._

 _ **Story recommendations:**_

 _Lady Ingenue's three stories featuring the Governor. All three are flawlessly paced and beautifully written._ **They Seek Him Here** _and_ **Doctor Blake and Mr Hyde** _are quite honestly my favourite stories on this site. They're set in historical AUs with no ZA, while the beautiful_ **On The Inside** _is set in a world more like that in the show … if there hadn't been a zombie apocalypse._

 _Two very short TWD stories: 'Mr Blue'_ , _a delightfully creepy portrayal of the Governor with Penny, and an even creepier Gareth story, 'Breadcrumbs (concerning psychological bureaucracy)'._

 _ **My other TWD-related works:**_

 _On my profile page are details of where to find my YouTube and Deviantart accounts. I've posted several_ _ **drawings**_ _of the Governor and have created a few_ _ **videos**_ _featuring him. My favourite video focuses on Brian Heriot and Lilly Chambler._

 _Thanks again for reading this story :)_


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